


Cure-All

by Severina



Category: Live Free or Die Hard (2007)
Genre: Community: smallfandomfest, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-14
Updated: 2015-12-14
Packaged: 2018-05-06 14:27:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5420561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Severina/pseuds/Severina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Oh, Officer," Matt answers, pitching his voice higher than normal and batting his eyes, "please don't arrest me. Put those cuffs away and I can show you a <i>real</i> good time."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cure-All

**Author's Note:**

> Written for LJ's smallfandomfest for the prompt "police cruiser"
> 
> * * *

All he wants to do is get home, grill up a steak, down a cold beer, fuck the kid's brains out and get some sleep. Not necessarily in that order.

So that's of course why Matt sends him a text – kid can't just phone like a normal person – to meet him out back of the precinct instead of in front where his car is parked. He scans the lot and finally spots Matt's shaggy head bopping between the rows of cruisers, stopping now and then to dip down and examine something inside. It reminds him of Jack's fascination with his old cruiser when he was a kid, and that's definitely not the kind of thought he wants to have about his goddamn lover, even if Matt _is_ half his age. So he pushes that aside damn quick as he plods his way tiredly through the parking lot.

"Time to head home, kid," he says in greeting.

Matt looks up quickly, his faded red T a flash of colour amongst all the black and whites. "Hey, John! Just a sec."

"No sec," John says. "I've had a long fuckin' day."

"Yeah, no, I get that," Matt answers. "I've just always wanted to check out one of these."

And before John can stop him Matt is flinging open the door and piling into the back seat. He crawls across the worn leather and sprawls against the opposite window. Trust the kid to find the _one_ cruiser in the damn lot that's not been properly locked. John makes a mental note of the vehicle number so he knows whose ass to ream out later, then leans an arm on the roof and peers into the interior. "Get the fuck outta there, kid."

"Oh, Officer," Matt answers, pitching his voice higher than normal and batting his eyes, "please don't arrest me. Put those cuffs away and I can show you a _real_ good time."

John blinks. "Are you tryin' to sound like a hooker?"

"Sex worker, McClane," Matt corrects primly, dropping the voice. "And you can wipe that sour look off your face. There's nothing wrong with sex between two consenting adults, even if one of them is getting paid for it. Did you know that there's a direct correlation between the legalization of sex work and the decrease in the reported incidents of sexual violence? Because I can show you stats—"

John holds up a hand. "I want stats, I'll talk to Vice."

"Fine," Matt huffs out with a roll of his eyes. He sits up straighter, contorts his hands into some weird claw-like distortion. At first John thinks he's maybe going for a zombie impression, but then— "Yo yo, motherfucka! You think you gonna take me down? I'll rip your intestines out through your ears and tie 'em around your head like a fuckin' ribbon!" 

John's laugh comes straight out of his gut. "What the fuck was that?"

Matt frowns up at him, lifts a shoulder. "Gangster?"

"Jeeezus, kid. You been watchin' too much TV."

"Right. Okay, okay, last try." He ducks his head and shakes his shoulders, and when he looks up again those big brown eyes are all Matt. He lifts his hand imploringly. "Detective McClane. I understand your suspicion, I really do. Smashed window at Best Buy, super cute yet obviously geeky dude standing outside with an armful of _Fallout 3_ , you automatically think there's a connection. But I swear I'm innocent!" 

"Now that one's a lot more realistic." John shakes his head at Matt's pleased grin, points at him when Matt relaxes and leans back against the seat. "Now. Outta the damn car."

"Nope."

"Matthew."

"Come get me."

John sighs. An entire day of depositions in a strange precinct, Montenegro on his damn ass, nothing in his stomach since breakfast but the sludge they call coffee in this part of Queens and a stale croissant. He just don't have the patience for this. He bends and leans inside, one knee on the seat and the other reaching for the front of Matt's T-shirt. One good heave and he'll have the kid halfway out the door before he knows what hit him.

The fatal flaw in his plan is that he expects Matt to squirm away, to playfully try to evade him. 

Instead, Matt surges forward and grabs for his shoulders. The sudden weight on his upper body topples him off-balance, sending him sprawling half onto the seat and half onto the dirty floorboards. He's still spluttering and muttering curses under his breath when Matt reaches past him and slams the rear door closed.

"I win," Matt says.

The kid is still grinning smugly when John hauls himself up onto the seat. He swipes his hand over his scalp and settles back into the worn leather, closes his eyes. So much for his steak. And his beer. Maybe he can still get some shut-eye. "You think so, kid?"

He feels the seat move – okay, sleep is also apparently out of the question -- and opens his eyes. Turns his head to see Matt angling in toward him.

"Well gee, Detective McClane," Matt says, "I figured you'd want to search me for more _Fallout 3_ games. Who knows what I might have hidden in my—"

"You might've noticed there's no handles on the inside of these doors?" John cuts him off. "Kinda helps when we're trying to keep the bad guys locked up in the cars."

For a moment Matt just blinks at him. Then his eyes dart to the doors, growing wider as the knowledge sinks in, and when he speaks again his voice squeaks. "We can't get out?"

"We can't get out."

"Wow. Okay. I failed to factor that in when I came up with this… I just wasn't thinking that they…" His hand flutters to his chest, and his normally chalky skin turns even paler. John didn't think that was actually possible. He swallows, waves a hand in the air. "Not good. I'm pretty sure I'm hyperventilating. Yeah, this is definitely hyperventilating. Maybe I never mentioned this before, McClane, but I have a real fear of enclosed spaces!"

"You gave me a list of your phobias when you moved in, Matt," John reminds him blandly. He can picture the lined paper, Matt's neat block lettering in thick black ink. "It was there. 'Spaces, comma, close-slash-tight'. Sandwiched right between 'sardines' and 'Staten Island Ferry'."

He's pretty sure Matt doesn't hear a word he says. 

"Okay, yeah, I can't breathe. Oh shit. I don't think I have my inhaler. Do you have my inhaler? Because my chest is all tight and… yeah, I think I'm gonna pass out. Is this what passing out feels like? Because I only ever fainted once before and that was when I was climbing the rope ladder in gym class and got dizzy and—"

"Jesus Christ, you're not gonna pass out."

"But—"

John reaches across the seat and turns Matt toward him, cups his cheeks in his hands. And jesus, the kid IS all kinds of clammy, his eyes rolling as he darts anxious looks around the vehicle. John dips his head to make the kid meet his eyes. "You're _not_ going to pass out," he says forcefully. 

Matt's eyes flutter for a moment, then he seems to focus. He blinks rapidly, and John can feel the tension in his jaw ease slightly. "I'm not?"

"Nope," John says. But Matt's fingers are clenched like claws around his forearms, and his skin is cool and damp and beaded with sweat. The kid's trying hard to believe it, but his body is definitely not getting with the program. So John does the only thing he can think of. He closes the gap between them and kisses him.

Matt is stiff in his arms, lips unmoving, and John is starting to feel like some kind of creepy predator when suddenly Matt relaxes. The lips that were closed and unyielding beneath his swiftly part, and John swallows Matt's soft, almost inaudible gasp. The fingers that had been trying to dig their way into his forearms release their vice grip. His heart is still beating rapidly, but now it's for another reason entirely.

Matt's palms smooth up his arms and find the nape of his neck, and John lets Matt guide them into the kiss, angles his head and plucks at his lips the way Matt likes best; and when Matt's hands slip to his shoulder blades he lets Matt tug them into a prone position on the seat, his thigh sandwiched between Matt's legs.

He feels Matt rocking against him, and concentrates on the slide of his lips against Matt's and not on his own burgeoning erection. He focuses on the way Matt gasps into his mouth, and the hot exhalation of his breath, and the flutter of his eyelids when he takes the kisses to Matt's neck and sucks on his bobbing adam's apple. He's not so far gone that he'll take it any further – the last thing he needs is some rookie finding him fucking his boyfriend in the back seat of a parked cruiser – but he's gotta admit the temptation is great. 

When they finally come up for breath Matt is flushed and grinning beneath him, and John's shirt is untucked and rucked halfway up his torso. He frowns down at the once immaculate shirt – there are at least two missing buttons now, he notices – and has absolutely no memory of Matt partially undressing him. Yeah, maybe it was a little more of a near thing than he thought.

He lifts a hand to push Matt's tangled hair out of his eyes, matches his grin with one of his own. "Not thinking about enclosed spaces now, are ya?"

Matt blinks for a second before the lightbulb goes on and the kid's smile gets wider. "Wow," he says. "You're good."

"Better than good," John says, and let his own grin get a little cocky. He holds out a hand to pull the kid into a sitting position, then does his best to put his shirt back in order while eyeing the grill partition between the seats. Impact resistant glass, reinforced steel. Highly unlikely he can bust through it, never mind the shit he'll get for destroying a damn vehicle. They're stuck here until somebody comes out to pick up a cruiser. 

"Hey. John."

John slants a glance at the kid, loose and relaxed now. At least the panic attack is over. Of course one look at the kid all rumpled and flushed and now all he's thinking about is getting Matt home and outta those clothes. He shakes his head. One thing at a time. "Yeah, kid?"

"Maybe we can work on the Staten Island Ferry next."

John grins. Curing Matt of his phobias one make-out session at a time. He could get behind that.


End file.
